


To Break in a Host

by Sevvyhonda



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: ALSO ANIMAL DEATH IM SO SORRY, Essentially if anything triggers you do not read, It gets....... bad, so watch out for that, this is a way for me to get my need to write Big Gore out of the way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-04 19:05:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17310212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sevvyhonda/pseuds/Sevvyhonda
Summary: Funny how triptych never shows he transitions between those points in Kevin’s life, huh? Well this is that. Hope you like that.





	1. The city is wartorn...

**Author's Note:**

> And smiling, and smiling, and... s m i l i n g...
> 
> Wrote this while listening to Triptych and thought ‘hey what if this was more in depth and also kind of sad’ so i did that

The dead cat had to be abandoned.

Shekhath, a soft grey tabby cat, formerly stuck floating four feet in the air in the woman’s bathroom of the Desert Bluffs radio station, was now limp on the ground. Her venom spikes hadn’t even fully grown in. Blood pooled around her soft body. He didn’t even see the bastard who did it.  

Kevin wished he could have a funeral. He so wished he could take a moment to mourn his baby, the kitten he’d nurtured since she’d shown up. 

They already had _him_. 

His soft, perfect lilt turned to animalistic screeches from outside the studio, slamming fists and stomping feet and rending teeth. Crashing. Tearing. He had to survive this. He had to win for his town. 

Tears slipped down his bloody face as his makeshift barricade began to collapse. he had to report. So he forced open dry, cracked lips and forced strained vocal cords to continue past sobs, one last act of rebellion against those that would kill all he lived for.

It was his duty. 

_“Listeners... They have... Torn past our defenses... It’s only a matter of time bef- before they come and... do what they’ve done to s-so many of you... to me... I cannot s-“_

That terrible, familiar voice tore through the walls, echoing how no voice should. 

**“Oh, Kevin... How silly of you to think you could hide from us! Don’t you feel so Unfulfilled? As a twisted neck? Unfulfilled? As a scream, never heard, never cared about? Unfulfilled! Join Strexcorp Synergists Inc.! Join us, my love!”**

A terrible scream tore from Kevin’s throat as he tried to block out the voice, hunched over, covering his ears desperately. It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. This couldn’t...

_”L...Listeners... I need... I c... Weather, h... Just.... The[weather](https://youtu.be/-PWYwgjncFs)...”_

His barricade shattered as the weather began, a blindingly bright light freezing Kevin for a moment. An army of gorey smiles grabbed him with iron fists, tearing him, screaming, from his chair. They forced his eyes open, they carved an open-mouthed smile onto his face. They tore off his shirt, carving massive letters into his chest, disregarding his ceremonial tattoos. TM OF STREXCORP. 

That light bored itself into his eyes, his whites turning black and his soft browns turning into a glowing golden. 

They dropped him. A pair of arms curled around him in a disgusting imitation of a loving embrace, putting pressure on the fresh wounds. He laughed, and it wasn’t his voice. What little there was of him was dying, shoved down and replaced with some other person. 

Oh!

The weather was ending!

Well, couldn’t leave the listeners in suspense before he went out with the army. He sat down, his own blood seeping into the chair from the gorey tears in his face and torso. 

“I’m SO sorry about that, listeners! I was being so silly about that whole takeover thing, wasn’t I? And now there’s a big mess in my studio! Well, I hate to do this, but I’m going to have to end this episode early today. There are a few negative nellies out there who are still avoiding humble StrexCorp, and I’d love to help out with the search. So have a great morning, Desert bluffs! Goodbye!”


	2. ...and nearly impassable.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faces stained with loss, but smiling as they’re crying. I’d rather see you laugh at my tragedy than see you choke on these tears while I’m curtsying...
> 
> Kevin starts ripping at the seams. The prophet can’t hear the voice of the Smiling God anymore, and it’s killing him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its 1:27 am time to fucking party babes. tw for amnesia, dissociative identity disorder relating to mental trauma (its used in a kind of lashing out and violent way just in case that aint your thing), and mental breakdowns compounded with self-isolation. 
> 
> this is a short one, might make an epilogue or somethin if i feel it

It began a few months ago. The voice of the Smiling god had gotten quieter, still there but barely. It was worrying.

He hoped it wouldn’t get worse, but did anything ever go his way? He was at the movies with Charles, buying Honey-Mint flavored popcorn with a vinaigrette made of the tears of the employees, his usual. He had a flash of clarity, but it was gone too fast to grasp. His smile tore itself into a stunned, distant frown. 

Charles shook his shoulder slightly, but it couldn’t snap him out of it. He was trying to remember what he’d just remembered. Or... forgotten? Something important. Something urgent. Charles said his name.

And his vision snapped shut, but only for one terrible moment. 

His ceremonial knife was buried deep in Charles’ stomach, twisted slightly, his hand fisted on the hilt. He gasped, letting go from the shock, and charles stumbled back from him. 

It was an accident. It must’ve been. He’d never hurt  ~~such an ungrateful heretic~~ ~~~~\- No, no, Charles wasn’t...

He felt a barely suppressed urge to snap the employee nearest to him’s neck.

He cursed under his breath as the ambulance skittered to a stop, its legs writhing and the medical professionals cramming Charles inside. 

He went home that night and didn’t sleep. Usually, at this time, he would hear the deep rumble of the Smiling God crawling in circles beneath the sand, the screams of its planet-wide maw agonizingly stretching. 

The silence tonight was deafening, and he kept fading in and out of that awful state of mind. But the longer he was aware of his condition, the more he questioned all he knew. Not by choice. He would never choose to do this, any of this.

The sound of the house settling made tears stream from his face. A terrible mockery of those sacred sounds only he heard. He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand and it physically hurt, his heart burned in its cage.

He didn’t want to hurt Donovan. He didn’t want to hurt Charles. 

So, at 4 am, he packed his bags and headed to the hospital. Charles was unconscious, various pulsing tubes hanging from his body. He softly kissed his boyfriend on the forehead, just above his closed third eye. 

Then he took his stuff and left. 

For Donovan, he told himself, as the sand squished beneath his heavy, lime green boots. 

For Charles, he told himself, as the winds bit into his light pink velvet shawl. 

For myself, he told himself, as he forgot who ‘myself’ was. 


End file.
